


Prayer for the Storm, Shot of Vodka for the Fire

by Chogisad



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 15:12:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14335197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chogisad/pseuds/Chogisad
Summary: The night the tank room collapses, everything changes. Some are searching for forgiveness, and some are searching for each other.





	Prayer for the Storm, Shot of Vodka for the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Find the trailer here: http://chogisad.tumblr.com/post/170208105874/a-prayer-for-the-storm-a-shot-of-vodka-for-the

—— PART ONE ——

**_Monday_ **

Maracaibo is quiet for a Monday afternoon. The lights around the town begin to spring to life and Jongdae tells himself to enjoy the tranquility while it lasts. When summer starts, the streets will line with tourists and researchers, all hoping to experience Lake Maracaibo’s “eternal storm.”

On some days, Jongdae can see the lightning from his apartment’s balcony. Its been months but every time, he becomes transfixed by the luminescent rays. They envelop the sky, over and over again, and on the bad days, when his own powers flare inside of him like thunder in the dead of night, they also help hide the way he loses control. On the bad days, when the electricity bursts out of him, Jongdae wishes he could be like Maracaibo; a sight to behold rather than terror and tragedy.

He walks the aging streets of his make-shift home. He’s grateful for the Venezuelan color that helps him repress memories of ashen training rooms and botched simulations, of fires and flying, of telling Minseok to go on without him. It’s all different here. It’s quieter, so much that on the good days, Jongdae pretends he’s safe. On the good days, Jongdae enjoys the persistent heat of Venezuela and forgets about how much he loved the frost of winter, and how beautiful Minseok looked with snow in his hair.

He finds a seat at one of the local bars and keeps his eyes down as he orders his drink.

“Quien estas tratando de olvidar?”

Jongdae stiffens at the sudden question, his heart clenching in cold fear. The glass is frozen midair as he gets caught under the gaze of the timeworn bartender, and Jongdae’s vision blurs with panic.

“ _Estas tomando a las 7 de la tarde. Qual chica te daño?_ ”

Jongdae almost cries with relief. The old man is simply making conversation, asking about the possible flame that broke his heart, rather than the stormy past he ran fast and far from. He smiles, hoping the other man did not register his overt alarm.

“ _La chica es la vida. Ya sabe como es_ ,” Jongdae replies, hoping he didn’t trip over his gender pronouns too badly. The bartender nods solemnly but gives him an encouraging smile before placing another glass of whiskey in front of him.

“ _A la vida, mi chavo. Que un día nos sepa amar._ ”

Jongdae drinks to that– “to life, who may one day learn to love us.”

**_Tuesday_ **

Sehun checks his rearview mirror once, twice, three times in the course of five minutes. He takes a detour home, a different one every night, and parks down the street instead of in front of his building.

He takes the stairs instead of the lift. He checks to make sure the thin, unnoticeable ribbon is still in the door before he opens it. This is how he survives.

He only turns one light on at a time. The wooden floors of his flat creak under his weight; he likes it this way. Every step reminds him that he’s still standing.

Sehun makes tea–three sugars– and two slices of toast. He wanders alone in the darkness of his apartment until he reaches the right room. There’s only a chair and a desk and the walls are papered with newspaper clippings and red marks, each pin pointing someone Sehun is trying to find.

He opens his laptop and stays illuminated in the fluorescent light of the screen.

“EUROPE - frost.” He types into the search bar.

“NORTH AMERICA - floods.”

“NORTH AMERICA - fires.”

“ASIA - lightning.”

Sehun takes notes in a worn journal. It’s the eclectic collection of sketched dates and throwaway coordinates. Most of them are useless; only a few of them give him hope that one day he’ll find his family.

Sehun showers and sits in the empty ringing of his living room. There’s no furniture, only a blanket and a sheetless pillow. He tucks his knees under his chin and stares out the only window he left without a curtain. The blue haze from the city around him filters through the open blinds, and Sehun remembers nights they’d sit together in the dark, after a successful training session, and contain their powers to the palms of their hands.

Sehun loved the way lightning would dance across Jongdae’s fingers. He remembers when they were younger, Jongdae would touch one of them and they’d all laugh as Minseok’s or Yixing’s or Jongin’s long hair would stand on end.

Baekhyun knew how much they all hated the dark. He’d illuminate their dorm with orbs of light that’d twinkle brighter every time he laughed. Sehun remembers how Chanyeol would keep the room warm, and Baekhyun would keep it vibrant.

As they grew older and their powers strengthened, became more volatile, they became more weary of their abilities. After the fire, Jongdae stopped touching people. Minseok stopped making snowflakes. And Chanyeol was sent to sleep in his own room. After that, Baekhyun could never hold the light for very long outside of training rooms. The orbs would illuminate the space for a few minutes, but then they’d flicker and die out. They all grew accustomed to the darkness like that.

Before going to sleep, he fills a glass with water, and leaves it next to his makeshift bed, just like Junmyeon used to do. Sehun lays down on the hard floor. He tucks a tired arm under a tired head and tries to hold on to the memory of Junmyeon singing him to sleep. Sehun is afraid of all the people hunting him down. He’s afraid of the things he’s done, of everything he could still do. But despite the tragedy in his wake, Sehun is terrified he’ll never find the people who learned to love a tempest storm.

**_Wednesday_ **

Minseok often only remembers running. He remembers the tank room collapsing. He remembers the way pine needles raked at his skin and how he could count the sharp rocks embedding themselves further into his bare feet. The earth trembled underneath them; somewhere, Kyungsoo was determined to die before they took any of them again. He remembers tugging on Baekhyun so forcefully, remembers how the wind howled in his ears louder and louder as Sehun panicked someplace else in the forest.

Minseok comes home with groceries that night. Baekhyun is asleep on the couch and Minseok can’t help but tuck the worn blanket tighter around the younger boy’s shoulders. Baekhyun can’t seem to ever get warm enough. He shivers on sunny days, and Minseok always feels like he isn’t doing enough. He knows before, Baekhyun always had someone as warm as fire to go back to.

He tries to measure his steps as he makes dinner but Baekhyun wakes up eventually. He’s ruffled hair and blanket around the shoulders and Minseok’s heart softens. He makes Baekhyun tea and tells him about his day, about the new drink he tried at the coffee shop, about the little old lady he helped across the street. He keeps talking, forcing himself to fill the empty spaces Minseok created when he ran through the woods and away from the sounds of rushing water, away from the echoes of thunder.

He steps away from the stove, stops to take a breath, and meets Baekhyun’s nervous smile. Before he can say anything else, Baekhyun’s voice cuts across the kitchen counter; shaky but determined.

“There was another dust storm in Edinburgh.” Baekhyun says, and Minseok’s jaw clenches.

“Another earthquake in Colorado. And people are–”

“People are what, Baekhyun?” Minseok interjects, feeling the clench of his heart, knowing he always has to play the villain in these conversations. “Seeing a disappearing man in London? Another fire in Arizona? I don’t know what you want me to–”

“I want you to help me fi–”

“Baekhyun, please–”

“These aren’t coincidences! Minseok–”

“Look– we just cant–”

“They could be waiting for–”

“There’s other natural disasters out there besides us, Baekhyun!” Minseok snaps, too loud, too harsh, regretting it as soon as Baekhyun flinches and goes quiet.

“I need you to let me mourn them,” Minseok mutters. He turns off the stove and retreats into the silence of his bedroom. He lays in the dark, his stomach twisting with guilt, and he falls asleep as the tears begin to dry on his pillow.

Hours later, he jolts awake to the first crack of thunder.

It sends him spiraling. He fists the bed sheets as his mind flickers through memories and he becomes entrapped to his own recollections.

Brown eyes and easy smile.

_“Hi– I’m Jongdae.”_

_Static._

_“I’m sorry.”_

_Static._

_“I can’t always control it.”_

_Static._

_“Min, are we gonna die here?”_

_Static._

_Junmyeon couldn’t control the water and Luhan was drowning; they were all drowning. A gentle hand in his, shocking life back into his fading heart. The walls of the tank trembling._

_“JONGDAE! JONGDAE!”_

_“GO! TAKE BAEKHYUN AND GO!”_

“It’s okay. It’s okay. It’ll pass.” Baekhyun’s gentle voice soothes him back to the present. Minseok clutches Baekhyun’s hand under the covers, and squeezes his eyes shut as the entire room blazes with the first bolt of lightning. These storms always trigger memories Minseok tries to let go of; they trigger his remorse, calling for penitence. Its unspoken, the way Baekhyun finds his way into Minseok’s room to ease him out of his nightmares. This is not the first storm they’ve weathered together, and Minseok knows it is not the last.

**_Thursday_ **

Yixing knows he shouldn’t but he can’t help it. He can feel the small child hurting. He can feel the pain, sharp and hot, radiating off of his skin as his energy wanes out. Its like watching a camp fire die down; this small boy is nothing but smoke and embers, and Yixing knows he’s not going to make it.

Yixing knows his parents are in the lobby, praying, unaware that their child is on the brink of nothingness, fate sealed long before they brought him into the emergency room. He knows he shouldn’t draw more attention to himself but the boy, with his short hair and lanky figure, reminds him of another boy, who couldn’t always time his landing and had the record for most broken bones amongst them.

Yixing remembers the night the proctors forced Yifan to fly higher, forced all of them to watch. Sehun was barely four, and shaking with fear, his own powers agitating the sky until Yifan fell. None of them reacted in time and in his nightmares, Yixing can sometimes hear the shattering bones he was not strong enough to heal.

He places gentle fingers over the boy’s cold hand and focuses. He was not able to save Yifan, but maybe he can save someone else instead. The room hums suddenly with warm energy, and Yixing can feel the young boy absorb his power, can feel his heart strengthening, can see the color returning to his skin. The boy takes in a gulping breath of air, and the monitors around him being to keep loudly. Yixing leaves the room quietly. Like on so many occasions, he makes his way to the camera room and erases the tapes from that room, on that day. The people of this hospital will accredit another miracle to God, and Yixing will sleep with a sounder conscience.

**_Friday_ **

Junmyeon finds it ironic that the darkness feels like drowning. It sits heavy on his heart, reminding him of everything he’s lost.

Once upon a time, he was rather good at isolation. He was born in the institute. He had no family to be ripped away from. He jumped when they said jump, he ate when they decided he’d earned it, and he spent his first few years of life thinking the world was made up of their commands and his submission.

Sehun and the others changed that. The institute wanted them to be weapons; they tried to teach them to kill and maim, but in their hearts, they taught themselves otherwise. The deaths they encountered were always accidents, always the consequence to losing control. They never blamed each other. But whether it was the smoke, or the fall, or the tank, someone always felt at fault. Someone would always carry a single name on their conscience.

Junmyeon thinks of this, of his family, as he suspends two tons of water in the air. He remembers the tank room, the way the walls stood like gravestones, and the way he could not get them out. With a flick of his wrist, the water propels as a jet into the wall of the empty pool, cracking the concrete. He does it again, stepping back as giant shards of rubble twist through the air. If only he could’ve been strong enough to save Luhan.

He fills the pool and walks on water. This too is ironic. The Professor once told him he and the others would be like gods amongst men. Junmyeon knows these gods are vengeful, and one day, the people who hurt him will pay for their sins.

**_Saturday_ **

“Energy cannot be created or destroyed; that is the basic law of the universe.” The physics professor instructs from the front of the lecture hall. Jongin writes down information from the powerpoint. He takes careful notes despite knowing that the universe sometimes has loopholes; he’s proof of that.

The lecture ends and the stooped hall begins to empty. Jongin gathers his belongings and makes his way to the courtyard. He pulls his peacoat tighter around himself as the frosty England air stirs the leaves, and his eyes wander over the Oxford cobblestones; all mismatched, all placed around each other to create something coherent.

“Hey,” Kyungsoo brings him out of his reverie. He holds a paper cup out to him, and Jongin scrunches his nose.

“I don’t drink–”

“I know,” Kyungsoo sighs. “Its peppermint tea.”

Jongin smiles, adding a little bow of gratitude. He makes space for Kyungsoo on the wooden bench, and they sip their drinks in the silence. They watch other students pass them by; Jongin feels out of place amongst people who are so paradoxically ordinary.

“How was your lesson?” He asks Kyungsoo, who takes a comtimplary drink before answering.

“The professor read medieval lit again. It was interesting.” Kyungsoo shrugs. “Yours?”

“She talked about the laws of the universe; said matter can’t be created. I thought about Jun and Minseok. They created a type of matter, right?”

Kyungsoo looks at the sky. He avoids Jongin’s questioning gaze.

“Logic doesn’t really apply to us. I think we’d be considered anomalies.”

Jongin only nods.

“Lets go home,” Kyungsoo says and they make their way to the main street in a pensative quiet. They take a cab home; Kyungsoo never teleports with Kai. They both know it reminds him too much of the last time it happened.

The night the tank room collapsed, Jongin made one choice to change everything. The others laid around him, sputtering, trying to swallow down as much air as humanly possible when the alarms started blaring.

“The– the fence! Jongdae! Short circuit the fence!” Minseok yelled, helping a shaking Junmyeon to his feet.

They’d all looked, panicked, at the fence that was on the verge of collapse but still humming with electricity. They’d talked about escaping. They’d all fantasized about living different lives where their gifts were not weapons. Each of them had dreamt a version of life where they could be normal, and this was their one chance.

The forest around them was illuminated by Jongdae’s lightning but Jongin’s gaze was focused on Luhan. His eyes were closed, his wet hair matted on his forehead, as he lay amongst the rubble; dead.

“They’re coming! RUN!” Junmyeon ordered, and Chanyeol was the first to turn his power against the men clad in white security gear. The trees came toppling down, giant flares of fire consuming their old trunks, and the entire forest became a war zone.

The wind howled, loud, angry and frightened, and slabs of steel flew through the air with it. Jongin could see his breath as razor sharp icicles cut through their surroundings, embedding themselves in the guards firing their weapons.

Jongin was immobile, his ears ringing with white noise as the entire world shook.

_Yifan. Luhan. Tao._

He couldn’t fathom watching someone else he loved die. Not like this. Not again.

“JONGDAE! JONGDAE!”

“GO! TAKE BAEKHYUN AND GO!”

The earth trembled beneath him. Someone screamed in pain. The air was cloying with dirt and dust and the smell of sulfur.

“SEHUN! WE’LL FIND YOU. GO.” Junmyeon ordered and Jongin was choking on his desperation, useless as the legions of men clad in white came closer and closer.

_Not again._

Jongin made his choice. He prayed they would forgive him. He prayed one day he’d get the chance to apologize.

Jongin reached out and placed his hand firm on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. The universe went black and dry and Jongin felt a familiar compression on his lungs before their feet were touching solid concrete.

“YIXI-” Kyungsoo’s shout died in his throat. He whipped around, eyes wide and furious.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?” He snarled, rounding on Jongin.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, feeling the ground beneath him vibrate dangerously.

“TAKE US BACK. TAKE US BACK, NOW.” Kyungsoo demanded, grabbing Jongin by the white collar of his uniform.

“I’m sorry.” Jongin repeated, letting Kyungsoo shake him.

“HOW COULD YOU? HOW COULD YOU?” Kyungsoo screamed, and Jongin braced himself. He would take the brunt of Kyungsoo’s fury, would take every angry hit, if it meant Kyungsoo was alive.

Instead, Kyungsoo fell to his knees. The sobs that raked through his entire body echoed down the empty street and Jongin only stood motionless. He prayed they would forgive him. He prayed one day Kyungsoo would forgive him.

_**Sunday** _

The room is black with smoke. Somewhere, someone is screaming for help but Chanyeol can’t see anything, can’t hear through the panic pulsing hot and red in his ears. The flames don’t stop coming. They lick at his palms, set more of the world ablaze and he tries to close his fists but that only makes them stronger.

The curtains, the bed sheets– everything around him is fire. He stumbles toward Baekhyun’s bed, toward Jongin’s bed; empty.

The dream shifts violently and Yixing is crouching next to Tao’s body. Chanyeol wills himself to wake up; he’s lived this too many times. Yixing concentrates and the room buzzes with a warm energy but as soon as it starts, it goes cold, like a graveyard, like a coffin, like wilted flowers in the middle of a winter freeze. The colors are draining fast from the world, turning sleep into nightmare. Yixing’s voice echoes with familiarity, sometimes angry, sometimes disbelieving, sometimes full of so much grief Chanyeol wishes the fire were corporeal enough to scorch the memory away; “ _He’s dead. It–it was the smoke…_ ”

The real walls of his real life come into focus. Chanyeol tries to lie very still, but it feels like the shadows are crawling, unearthing a culpability he tried so hard to forget. He reaches over and turns on his bedside lamp; it’s been two years and he isn’t accustomed to darkness. He always had someone made out of pure light sleeping next to him. Chanyeol stares at the ceiling and wipes the sweat from his forehead. He ignores the taste of salt on his lips, the dry tear streaks on his cheeks.

“ _It wasn’t your fault. We know you can’t control it._ ”

His movements are robotic, a monotonous whir of motion that barely get him through the day. Chanyeol never feels the cold of the tile floor, never even notices that the hot water stopped working in his shower weeks ago. He dresses in dry colors that never attract attention and makes his way to his small kitchen.

“Took you a while to wake up.”

Chanyeol almost screams, his fists instantly sparking with orbs of flames as years of training kick into overdrive.

“Woah– woah!” Sehun shoots up from the couch, his hands up in surrender. “Its just me!”

The air in Chanyeol’s apartment stales and he drops to his knees, shaking his head in disbelief. The flames are extinguished. He’s imagining this. He must be imagining this.

“Hyung?” Sehun whispers, frightened, the excitement in his heart deflating more and more with each second.

“This isn’t real. This isn’t real.” Chanyeol whimpers, digging his nails into his palms. He spent weeks imagining Tao after the fire, all sad smile and empty eyes. Tao would never say anything, never throw blame, he’d just observe Chanyeol’s life from the shadows, not letting Chanyeol forget.

“Hyung– Its just me.” Sehun tries again. He steps forward, kneels in front of his friend, and places a trembling hand on Chanyeol’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to find you.” His voice is an unsteady murmur, heavy with the sudden realization that they were together, after two years, Sehun wasn’t alone anymore.

“Sehun?” Chanyeol’s voice is quieter than a gust of wind, afraid, already broken.

“Yeah, its m–oomph!” Chanyeol doesn’t let him finish. He launches himself at the younger boy and squeezes him in his arms. Sehun holds Chanyeol tightly, buries his face in the crook of Chanyeol’s neck and half giggles and half sobs; relieved, ecstatic, and terrified all at once.

They both cry into the embrace, hearts swelling with unimaginable hope as the seconds tick by. Chanyeol’s mind is buzzing, and he holds fistfuls of Sehun’s shirt in his hands, pulling him even closer. Chanyeol wonders if this is what it feels like to be saved from drowning.

“Hyung,” Sehun pulls away. Chanyeol runs his eyes over every aspect of Sehun’s features, trying to memorize him, never wanting to forget any detail of this single moment.

“How did you find me?” Chanyeol whispers and Sehun gives him a tear stained smile.

“Google.” He answers, before he’s helping Chanyeol back on his feet.

“Hyung, the others. I know where they are.”

Chanyeol takes a deep breath, deeper than any he’s been able to manage in the past few years.

“Together– _we’ll find them together._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Powers!AU. Tell me what you think!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr, where all of my stories and video edits are posted first: chogisad.tumblr.com  
> You can also find me on Youtube: @chogisad


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